Parent-Teacher Conferences of 1992
by PrunusPadus
Summary: Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Students. Just what it says on the tin. Warnings: AU. Silliness. Vultures. Bribery. Conspiracies. Did I mention that you shouldn't take this seriously?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N_

These are just some writing exercises I'm working on. They all feature various parent-teacher conferences. Please don't take anything in here too seriously.

1\. Pomona Sprout / Neville & Augusta Longbottom

2\. Severus Snape / Luna & Xenophilius Lovegood

* * *

 ** _1\. Of Cacti, Snargaluffs, and Other Aggressive Things_**

 _Grade 2 Gryf. Longbottom, Neville._

 _Although Mr. Longbottom has successfully altered some of the test objects we use in class, his abilities are so excitable and random that any spell he manages to learn needs an extraordinary amount of time to mature into operable magic. He also has a rather unfortunate penchant towards unnecessary wiggling and twirling, which as you know can cause unpredictable outcomes when attempting transfiguration._

 _He rarely causes disturbances on purpose, but he is easily distracted into confusion or neglect, which makes him rely heavily on the assistance of his peers. Please remind him of the benefits of reading up_ _prior_ _to classes to reduce the risk of him misconstruing the material._

 _I am also going to be quite frank in saying that I fear that Longbottom would have benefited from the calmer atmosphere in your own house rather than Gryffindor and that as of yet, the Sorting Hat's reasoning eludes me in this particular case._

 _P.S._

 _You will notice that that his conduct grade is adequate. I feel that this reflects low contribution rather than obedience, and nerves is likely the singular cause._

 _-Minerva McGonagall_

Pomona Sprout put the crumpled scroll down on her desk and drew her dirt-stained fingers over her face. With a sigh, she turned to look out the window where the sunlight glittered from the leaded glass surrounding the greenhouses.

'A chance to test you mettle,' 'Dumbledore had said genially when she argued that this case was best given to Longbottom's Head of House.

He hadn't even looked up from his knitting.

But it wasn't because of the boy that she felt like she had pulled the shorter straw, quite on the contrary. In her humble opinion, Longbottom was quite talented, a happy exception from most students, who tended to find Herbology unexciting compared to the other, less down-to-earth subjects.

No, she had nothing against the lad. She found him quite charming.

Rather, it was his _guardian_ who gave her the jitters. She was known to be demanding and abrasive and her howlers had been legendary ever since Frank Longbottom was enrolled back in '68.

There was a knock on the door and Pomona groaned. Then, like her reputation, Agusta Longbottom's vulture preceded her into the office.

Pomona stared at it. It stared back.

"Good morning, Professor."

She braced herself on the chair and stood.

"Good morning Mrs. Longbottom." She smiled. "Neville."

The woman removed a dead cat from around her shoulders and put a gargantuan purse down by her feet. "Call me Augusta," she said firmly. "It makes me feel young."

"Ah. Sure." Pomona didn't know if she ought to return the curtsey, if that was indeed what it was, but quickly forgot about niceties when the severe woman approached the closet by the door.

"Don't!"

She realised she had been a bit abrupt when Mrs. Longbottom spun on her heel with astonishing agility.

"Don't _what_?"

Pomona patted the oaken locker fondly. "I keep slime moulds in there. You'll let out the heat. Please use the hat stand instead."

Mrs. Longbottom quickly withdrew her hand, as though she had just touched something poisonous.

"You grow mushrooms in your wardrobe?"

"Slime moulds aren't fungi," peeped Neville, "they're protists…"

A nerve twitched close to Mrs. Longbottom's eye, but Pomona shrugged unapologetically. She considered ruffling the boy's hair. He really was adorable.

"Tea?"

"Please."

While Mrs. Longbottom hung her coat carefully by the door, Pomona went back to her desk, ordered refreshments and indicated for the guests to take the visitor's chairs.

"So…where to begin?"

"Give us your worst," said the woman briskly. "It will be like ripping off a plaster."

Neville looked like he was about to be executed.

"Ah…the worst…"

Pomona scanned the long scroll in her hand, her eyes landing on Snape's slanted scrawl.

 _Second grade, Neville Longbottom, Gryffindor._

 _Mr. Longbottom's potions skills are abysmal. I find myself incapable of teaching him even the simplest potion. The boy regularly disturbs my classes with asinine accidents and no amount of correction on my behalf has done anything to improve his performance. I am at loss._

The last paragraph seemed to be added as an afterthought:

 _And as we are on the topic of losses, over the course of one and a half year, he has melted forty-three of my pewter cauldrons and I'm inclined to ask his guardian for extra funds. In fact, there is a bill for ten galleons attached to this letter, would you be so kind as to pass it on to whom it may concern?_

 _-Severus Snape_

Well, that was helpful.

"I suppose we'll start with Potions then…"

"A worthy subject," interjected Mrs. Longbottom, casting a pointed look at her grandson. "You'll need it for Auror studies."

"Right." Pomona quickly searched her mind for a way to put things nicely, only to come out quite blank. "Well I'm afraid Neville has had some problems in class," she said. "There has been a couple of incidents…"

The vulture wobbled precariously. " _Incidents_?"

Neville wilted.

Pomona pulled out the grade card, taking care to place it on top of Severus' bill.

"Yes. Ah…there has been six explosions…some cheating…an incident with a boil cure…three potion-related trips to the Hospital Wing, and err, a… _couple_ of melted cauldrons…"

"Cheating, you say?" Mrs. Longbottom grew in her chair like a Snargaluff hit with a swelling solution, the vulture's outstretched wings completing the picture of prickly vines and whipping tentacles. "Are you telling me that my grandson is a _scallywag_?"

Like the plant, Pomona felt keenly that this woman was best handled by more than one person.

"Let me rephrase that…"

And clearly, she had forgotten to put Snape-goggles on while deciphering the grade card.

"Sometimes it seems that Neville is poorly prepared for some of the practical exercises," she said, remembering Minerva's note. "He relies a bit too much on his classmates, but I think-"

"So," interrupted Mrs. Longbottom, "what kind of potions is it that he has trouble with? I'm pretty sure he doesn't need to know _all_ of them to become an Auror?"

Considering what befell her son and daughter-in-law, Pomona found it a little eccentric that she would choose this career for their child. Indisputably, the grand old woman was Gryffindor from twig to root.

"He completed only three out of fourteen this semester."

"Really?" Mrs. Longbottom sniffed. "And you are sure that his tutor is competent? How many did the other second-graders complete?"

Pomona stealthily palmed Severus' bill. Without too much hassle, she managed to smuggle it inside an old issue of _What Wand,_ which was lying about on her desk.

"Err…I'm not at liberty to discuss other students, however-"

"Ach!" Mrs Longbottom jerked. "Don't be so _conservative_. There's only us in here."

" _However_ , I do feel that both Potions and Transfiguration are difficult classes. Very scientific. Very hard work. In addition to good tutoring, it requires that the students are _prepared_."

She looked at Neville as she said this, but the boy appeared to be in a state of withdrawal, his unfocused eyes hanging by the row of spiky cacti in her windowsill.

"Well," said Mrs. Longbottom, "I'll make inquiries with some other parents I know." She watched the boy disapprovingly. "Then we'll see who's been slacking off…"

On balance, Pomona decided, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Besides, here was an excellent opportunity to switch to a more neutral topic…

"Speaking of extracurricular matters…" She put her glasses on to read from the top of the scroll. "I've been instructed to inform all parents that 'auto-mobili' are strictly forbidden at Hogwarts as they cause extensive material damage."

She had no idea what this entailed, but judging from the latest faculty meeting, both Argus and Severus felt that the current situation was critical.

There was a pregnant pause, then-

"Naturally," said Augusta. "We never wear them in any case. They don't go well with my complexion."

"Right." Pomona tapped the note with her fingernail. "And then we've had a rather unfortunate incident with a petrified cat…"

The vulture stared her down, unblinkingly.

"Fears have been voiced that students will be targeted next. There has also been some speculations about the identity of the culprit…"

"I've heard," said Mrs. Longbottom, waving her arm dismissively. "But it has also reached my ears that the Defence professor this year is in a league of his own. Why hasn't _he_ sorted out the problem?"

The woman's vigorous gestures made the ratty bird moult several feathers, and a down landed spot on in Augusta's tea. It floated peacefully for a moment in the delicate porcelain cup, contrasting nicely against the pink roses that was painted on the inner rim.

"Ahh..." Pomona pinched the bridge of her nose. The grandmother was so different from the child that it gave her a headache. "Well, he's working on it, obviously… but our Headmaster is quite proficient with a wand as well, and then we have Professor Flitwick, who is actually a champion duellist…"

"Right..." Mrs. Longbottom raised an eyebrow.

"So I think you can feel quite confident that security is well-handled."

"You certainly don't _sound_ confident."

"Just leave everything to Dumbledore." Pomona chuckled nervously. "No one would dare to intrude on the school as long as he's around."

"Didn't just that happen only last year?" Augusta snorted disparagingly, her bony nose flaring. "With _You-Know-Who_?"

Neville jumped, upsetting the teacup so that it rattled against the little saucer, disturbing the liquid enough to break the natural water resistance of the floating feather. Soon, the tea swallowed it whole.

Luckily for Pomona, the abrupt movement broke Mrs. Longbottom's concentration. The woman turned to swat at the boy's arm.

"Anyway…" Pomona quickly read further down the scroll. Unfortunately, the next notes were less than helpful.

 _Neville Longbottom, 2. Grade, Gryffindor_

 _Such an engaging child!_

 _-Albus Dumbledore_

Hardly useful information as Albus would say that about almost anyone, but so far, the only record she could fully agree on…

 _Longbottom, 2. grade_

 _Born under an unlucky star._

 _-Sybill Trelawney_

There was no note from Chutbert, of course. The poor ghost was unable to hold a quill and she had been careful enough to avoid meeting him in the corridors for the past week-and-a-half, knowing he would have nothing of significance to contribute, but also eager to avoid a riveting lecture on Goblin politics.

"Well," she said. "Neville isn't a Seer. And he frequently mixes up the star signs in Astronomy…"

"That is of no consequence," said Mrs. Longbottom. "But what about Charms and Transfiguration?"

"We've sort of covered Transfiguration," muttered Pomona, "but he does have some difficulties with Charms as well. He is prone to accidents and Professor Flitwick recommends that he join a study group to get in more practice."

She watched the boy. "Is this something that might appeal to you?"

But Neville didn't have time to reply, because Mrs. Longbottom huffed dramatically.

"That's a fail grade in all of the subjects required for Auror School!" She fumed. "This is quite a disappointment…"

She sure was on a high horse for someone who flunked their own Charms OWL…

Pomona wisely kept her counsel when Augusta drained her teacup, feather and all.

"He does seem to do rather well in Care of Magical Creatures," she said instead, giving the boy a genuine smile. "As for my own class, Neville is the star student. To date, he's never once messed up a mucking mixture."

Mrs. Longbottom grimaced. "I don't see how that's going to make an Auror out of him," she said. "What about Defence?"

Following Neville, Pomona eyed the row of cacti in the windowsill, wondering if the atrocious bird would try to defend its mistress if she hurled them at Augusta's face.

"Defence… Right…"

She adjusted her glasses. This section of the scroll, which featured a rather unconventional heading, had lilac ink and oozed of a heavy cologne. The childish, loopy handwriting was nearly illegible.

 _Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award_

 _I cannot begin to explain to you the many ways in which Mr. Longbottom will reap the fruits of my tutelage. He seems rather taken with me, if I dare say it, and as such, I'm more than willing to admit him into a little duelling club I've been planning. However, I do not think it presumptuous to suggest some extra reading in advance would be helpful, especially my most recent book 'Year With the Yeti', where I quite smartly detail several excellent uses of the baubillious charm in the face of a mighty enemy. Another great read, I might add, is my autobiography, 'Magical Me', in which…_

Pomona's concentration waned. The man couldn't stick to topic to save his life. In fact, she was almost certain that if he ever was to land himself in a perilous situation, everything would boil down to dumb luck.

"Professor Lockhart also suggests study groups," she said. "In fact, I think Neville would benefit from this in most subjects."

She handed the grade cards over to Mrs. Longbottom and stood from her seat.

"However, I do fear that our time is up..."

"Already?" The woman stood to put the paper into her purse. But before she could close the lock, there was a loud snap from its murky depths as though her movement triggered an alarm. It was Pomona's turn to jump.

"Drat," muttered Mrs. Longbottom, opening the bag to pull out a mousetrap. Attached to its mouth were the shredded remains of Neville's grade card.

"Oh, dear," said Pomona. "Don't you just hate it when that happens? I'm afraid I forgot to bring extra copies…"

The boy grinned from ear to ear as the trap continued to chew.

"My apologies," said Augusta. "I can be rather clumsy sometimes. I'm afraid it's a family affliction…"

"No harm done." Pomona shuffled forward, eager to get rid of her. "Just think about what we discussed, Neville." She winked. "And if you ever feel like talking, know that my office is always open should you need me."

Neville bounced towards the door with renewed lightness in his step. "I will, Professor," he said. "And thank you."

The warmth in his voice told her she hadn't seen the last of him. As she herded the Longbottoms out of her office, Pomona decided to award herself a biscuit for a job well done.

The mousetrap gave a satisfied burp.


	2. Chapter 2

**_2\. Of Beasts, Detentions and Special Events_**

 _Grade 1, Racl. Lovegood, Luna_

 _I am raising concern in the hope that we might pick up early a case of possible harassment. To be blunt, Miss Lovegood is an unusual individual. She has voiced several unconventional attitudes towards reality, which easily breaks all barriers of what might be considered sensible. Curiously, this does not seem to influence her schoolwork, however, other students do appear to consider her an oddball and she is frequently the victim of cruel jokes and name-calling._

 _I am very curious as to how much of her world-view is under parental influence and hope you can allot some time to figure out the psychosocial status surrounding her home life._

 _-Filius Flitwick_

Severus Snape tried very hard not to twitch when a very tall man entered his office with Miss Lovegood in tow and gave face to Filius' worry.

There were no socks in his musty-looking loafers, and a flowy dress with several long tassels attached at seemingly random locations completed the picture of someone quite a few bricks short of a load.

Snape squinted against the hideous orange flower pattern on Mr. Lovegood's undershirt. It brought him abruptly back to his mother's kitchen, anno 1971.

The man squinted back, eyes slightly off-kilter.

"My name is Professor Snape," said Snape, dragging out the words. "I'm the one who's been…privileged with the happy task of going through Miss Lovegood's scholarly performance with you. I'm sure we'll have a very…educational time together."

Ignoring Snape, the man leaned over to mouth at his daughter, 'vampire?'

The girl shook her head, pointing surreptitiously at a silver cauldron, which just so happened to be in Snape's proximity.

Mr. Lovegood nodded wisely.

"Call me Xenophilius," he said aloud. "I'm Luna's father."

"Right." Snape pulled out the sheet of parchment Dumbledore had saddled him with, eager to get things over with.

Yes, there was Miss Lovegood's rather peculiar personality and Filius was probably right in his assessment of the situation, but in Snape's opinion, the girl seemed well equipped to deal with potential cases of light bullying.

Academically speaking, the biggest point of concern was perhaps that she seemed to do rather well in Divination.

"As you might know, I am Miss Lovgood's Potions teacher," he said. "So let's begin there."

"Ah," said Mr. Lovegood in a meaningful voice. " _Potions_ …"

Snape blinked. "Yes…?"

"Then what do you feel about the current Minister?"

Apparently, this was some sort of test. The man looked like he was weighing Snape on brass scales, long fingers tapping his unshaven chin.

"Cornelius Fudge is a simpering, ineffectual bumbler," said Snape off-hand. He had little patience with tests unless they were of his own making. "But I don't see what that has to do with-"

"Splendid!" Mr. Lovegood eagerly leaned forward in his chair. "Then you know all about-" he winked, "- _the cure for gum disease_ …"

Snape stared.

"The what?"

"Oh, yes, I'm aware." The man pointed at his nose and winked. "You must be one of the masterminds who opposes the Conspiracy then. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."

Snape shook his head warily. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Aha. Sorry." Mr' Lovegood lowered his voice to a whisper. "You're not allowed to talk about it. _I understand_."

"Right…" Snape was starting to feel a little flustered. "Anyway," he said, "we were supposed to be discussing Miss Lovegood's grades. But first I have a more general concern."

He folded his hands on his desk, pointedly ignoring the man's slightly cross-eyed stare.

"How do you feel the first semester has been like, Miss Lovegood?" he asked. "Have you settled in with your classmates?"

"Oh, yes." The girl smiled dreamily. "Hogwarts is such a nice place. And the people are friendly too. You know," she turned towards her father, "Professor Snape is actually my favourite teacher."

Snape's eyes narrowed. Was this some sort of cruel jest?

The girl watched him with slightly protruding eyes.

"You did almost destroy my plum necklace once," she said, "which was pretty mean, but overall, you treat me just like any other student."

Snape grunted a protest, but it landed on deaf ears as Mr. Lovegood was once again going on about the Minister.

"The Committee for Disposal of Dangerous Creatures are clearly in denial," he said, "because they haven't opposed the legalisation of fire spirits, which can only mean that there are Heliopaths involved and-"

'Seriously unbalanced', wrote Snape next to Filius' note on the parchment. He was actually starting to feel a little concerned.

"So far," he said when he managed to get a word in edgewise, "Miss Lovegood seemed no worse than the average student. She is quiet in class and has yet to make anything explode…"

"And speaking of explosions," ranted Mr. Lovegood, "the Muggle Prime Minister is obviously in league with Fudge and I actually considered running a special feature once about the err… what's that you're drinking?"

"Tonic for the nerves." Snape waved him off. "You were saying?"

"Ooh, Daddy." The girl suddenly grasped her father's arm. "Look!"

She pointed at one of Snape's shelves, where he kept some ingredients that had gone off.

"Oho!" Mr. Lovegood jumped up from his chair and flung his arms wide as though to protect them both against a terrible danger.

Snape looked around wildly, failing to see anything out of the ordinary.

"Huh…? No, that's just a…"

"An actual Umgubular Slashkilter!" The man crept closer to a jar on the shelf, wand raised. "I had no idea you were famous! However did you manage to catch it?"

"I'm not… A what?"

"They are extremely rare," Mr. Lovegood said, looking Snape up and down. "Very difficult to come by. Very dangerous. Don't tell me you're the one who found it, because I'll have difficulties believing you."

Considering who his employer was, Snape would gladly admit that he sometimes felt like the one sane chick in the cuckoo's nest. This however, went above and beyond.

"I had no idea you were this interested in magical creatures, Professor!" interjected Miss Lovegood, excitement lighting up her face.

"No," said Snape. "That's Professor Hagrid. Like I said, I'm the Potions Master and-"

"But clearly you have a way with them." Mr. Lovegood positively glowed. "This is the scoop of the century. Wold you consider granting an interview?"

"I don't." Snape palmed his face. He was nearing the end of his tether. "I don't even _like_ animals."

"That is most interesting." Mr. Lovegood pulled out a battered notebook and started to scribble. "Isn't it curious how that always seems to be the case? In fact, it happened to my late wife, who had a rather unusual phobia for birds, but our canary followed her around everywhere. It was almost like her awful attitude towards it made it love her even more."

Snape sighed. "Please. I want to talk about Miss Lovegood's Potion grades, I-"

He looked up, startled.

"Girl! Whatever is that on your head?"

"This?" Miss Lovegood pointed skyward. "It's my Special Events Hat. She nodded at the jar. "You know. To celebrate."

The thing, which in fact _was_ vaguely reminiscent of a headpiece, was shaped into a black blob, which at first glance bore the suspicious resemblance to a bat.

Snape stood. Was _that_ was what this was about…?

He felt decidedly wrong-footed and there was an odd feeling in his stomach as he suddenly had to resist the urge to scream.

He managed. Just barely.

"Miss Lovegood!" He took a deep breath. "That offensive … _thing_ … is expelled!"

"Oh, Professor," said Miss Lovegood, looking aghast. "I never meant to hurt your feelings."

"My what?" Snape spluttered. "I- Detention! I have never- _Feelings_?"

"Yes," continued the girl, quite serenely, "you're obviously underappreciated if this is your reaction to an innocent Dabberblimp."

Underappreciated?

Snape paused. Was he?

Maybe he was…

He was starting to feel a little deranged himself. Or was perhaps this thing that afflicted the Lovegoods contagious? Was he doomed to a life of utter insanity now?

"I've always thought he had that air about him, you know," whispered Miss Lovegood to her father.

The man nodded. "Looser's Lurgy," he muttered. "Nasty business. Didn't dampen his academic success though."

Then again, thought Snape, maybe it wouldn't make much difference to his already bleak existence…

He sat back in his chair with a thump.

"To get back on topic," said Mr. Lovegood sensibly, "you mentioned something about Potions?"

"Right."

Mr. Lovegood nodded approvingly, scribbling something in his notes.

As by a miracle, Snape managed to ease back on track. "Potions," he said. "Now I do actually feel that Miss Lovegood's strength is her rather err…exceptional creativity."

"How incredibly versatile."

"Yes. This is an advantage both for Potions and Charms." Snape checked his scroll. "And astonishingly, her Transfiguration seems up to par as well. There has been some issues with missing books and quills, but other than that, she seems to have her act under reasonable control."

Mr. Lovegood looked up sharply. "But as a member of the Rotfang Defence League, you're probably aware that Minister Fudge is holding one hostage?"

Snape blinked. And shook his head. And blinked again.

"Oops." Mr. Lovegood held up a hand. "Strictly off-record, I know."

"Right. As for Defence…"

Snape squinted at the paper, turning it this way and that.

"…I really can't say…"

Instead of the usual student review, this section featured a small sketch of a man with wavy hair who battled something that might or might not have been a Ford Anglia. It was actually rather well executed and for a moment, Snape was caught up in the animated spells, which were fired off in bright ink of different colours.

What it had to do with Miss Lovegood's performance in class was altogether a different matter, and he must have spent too much time considering, because Mr. Lovegood suddenly snapped his notebook shut.

"Splendid," he cried, reaching over the desk to grasp Snape's arm. He shook it vigorously. "That's a wrap!"

"A what…?"

"I must say you have impressed me, Professor. I feared that you were quite the close-minded type, but it renews my faith in humanity to see such a rare specimen preserved for future generations. You are a role-model for magizoologists to come."

Snape closed his gaping mouth with an audible click. It was unusual for him to be granted such high praise -no matter how bizarre- and he couldn't help but bask a little in the glow of attention.

"How about a picture, Professor?"

The girl was suddenly holding a lens up against his face. Having always been a little camera-shy, Snape immediately dove to the left.

"Now wait a moment, Miss Lovegood," he managed, "I-"

There was a click and a flash and both Lovegoods gave scattered applause.

"Thank you, Professor" the girl said sincerely. "I had no idea these conferences were so educational."

Two weeks later, _The Quibbler_ featured an article about endangered Slashkilters. On the front page was a photograph of one startled Hogwarts Professor and a blurry jar of eel eyes, well beyond their expiry date.

He would die rather than reveal the truth to a living soul, but in Severus Snape's desk drawer lay a copy of the magazine, gifted to him by the only student who didn't call him names behind his back.


End file.
